


A Christmas Wish.

by Thorntonsheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Christmas, Declarations Of Love, Fancy Dress Party, First Kiss, Frotting, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 23:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorntonsheart/pseuds/Thorntonsheart
Summary: Festive violin music can be heard as John walks down the stairs, the sounds warming John’s heart even as they soothe the last of his concerns about leaving Rosie overnight.  Sherlock is looking out of the window, his body slightly turned as he plays; John just has time to register a deep purple frock coat, beige, well fitting trousers and black knee-high boots before Sherlock turns around to face him, the perfection of his playing falters as he plays a series of wrong notes before stopping completely.  Sherlock seems stunned at John’s appearance and John has to admit to feeling fairly stunned himself





	A Christmas Wish.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this festive offering! It's been months in the making, it was originally planned as a Halloween thing but that came and went! I was beginning to think I'd have to turn it in to a Valentine's thing but I think I just made it!

“Tell me again, John, why I have to dress up in a ridiculous costume to go to some absurd party? _Christmas Fancy Dress Ball_ …”Sherlock mocks.“Why doesn't he just have us all dress up in period costume and be done with it!”Sherlock paces, hands gesticulating madly. “I’ll go in breeches and a waistcoat….”John has to swallow against the sudden rush of saliva at the thought of Sherlock in breeches.“And Mycroftcan go as, I don't know, King George the Third, or something equally pompous.”He breathes heavily and finally stops his pacing.

 “Because, you miserable sod, some people enjoy getting dressed up and pretending to be someone different, even if it is just for one night.”  John answers, his focus on his daughter as she toddles around the living room, pudgy fingers poking at the piles of paper that seemingly infest every flat surface. 

 “We’re detectives, John, we often pretend to be…. “  

 “No, _you're_ a detective.” John interjects, a small smile pulling at his lips.  “I’m a part-time doctor and full-time blogger who follows you around and pretends that he knows what on earth you are up to.” 

 “We’re partners, John.”  Sherlock looks sad, his words lacking their previous vigour and John realises his gentle teasing has gone completely over Sherlock’s head, as it often does nowadays. 

 “I know, but that still doesn't make me a detective; that brain-power, that ability to see beyond the every-day, beyond the obvious, that’s all you, Sherlock.”  John reaches out for Rosie as she toddles unsteadily towards him.  She’s only been walking, unaided, for a few days and she ends up on her bottom more often than not.  

 “I know I don't say it as often as I should…”  Sherlock begins and then falters. “but you're my conductor of light.  You make everything clearer, brighter.”  He kneels down to hand a toy to Rosie, averting his face.  “I can do what I do _only_ because you are part of it.”

 “It was your work before you met me, and whilst you were ‘away” and I’m sure it will be your work after I'm gone.”  John looks over to where Sherlock plays with Rosie and is quick enough to notice a flash of pain cross Sherlock’s features. John seeks to reassure Sherlock by sliding out of his chair and joining him on the floor with Rosie. “Not that I'm planning to go anywhere soon.”  John reassures. 

 “Perhaps so, John, but you have made me better; a better detective and a better man, more than I knew I was capable of being.”  

 For a moment they both watch Rosie as she plays with her toys, currently she's babbling away and attempting to force feed one of her rag dolls a toy car.  The lights on the christmas tree paint tiny patterns of colour in Rosie’s hair, providing little kisses of warmth. Neither man has ever been good with emotions and feelings in general but since John has moved back in with Rosie they both try to be more honest.  They may hide the true depth of their emotions behind the safety barrier that Rosie unknowingly provides but gradually both Sherlock and John are making great strides towards learning to trust each other again. 

 “Don’t think you've distracted me, Sherlock, you _are_ going to the party and you _are_ dressing up.”John announces in an effort to break the strange silence, heavy with more than just words left unsaid.

 “It’s a pointless exercise.”  Sherlock insists, his awareness, as ever tuned in to how close he is to John, suppressing a sigh of disappointment when John stands.

 “No, it is not.  Your brother lost a lot of dignity and respect because of what happened at Sherrinford and we have some culpability in those events.We need to show him our continued support by attending this event he has organised.  You are well respected within your field and bizarrely I'm seen as something of a hero; by attending this event we will be seen to publicly endorse Mycroft and Mycroft’s actions.” John explains.  

 “Well……. “  Sherlock searches around for a valid argument but fails.  “I refuse to enjoy it.”

 “Just get your arse..”  Rosie shrieks in protest when John picks her up, swinging her up high before resting her on his hip, the movement second nature to him.  “….into a costume and down to Mycroft’s ‘bash’ next week and I’ll try and find a way for us to enjoy the event.”

 “Hmm.”  Is Sherlock’s only reply.

 ~~~

 The week passes in relative quiet and, quite to John’s amazement, Sherlock makes no further protests about attending Mycroft’s soirée or about the lack of interesting cases.   Instead, he spends his time looking at items through his microscope, Rosie secure on his lap as she looks too,babbling her findings at him, to which he nods along;or out and about, returning home with various shopping bags and boxes; all of which he squirrels away in his room.

 John had decided on his costume a month ago when the invite had arrived.The dress code was a firm ‘suggestion’ that people dressed as what they had wished to be as children, an opportunity to relive childish dreams and maybe, at least for one night, leave their adult cares behind.  The heavy card stock and gold embellished writing of the actual invite was rather at odds with the oddly whimsical dress idea.John knows Sherlock had wanted to be a pirate as a child and is quite looking forward to seeing his costume, maybe as Captain Jack Sparrow; although the thought of Sherlock with Sparrow’s unkempt hair and rather dubious beard makes John wince.  Sherlock has too unique a face to hide under bad hair and stubble; rather, he should accentuate the angles and dips.  John has spared a few random moments over the last month pondering what costume Mycroft might wear but he struggles to believe that Mycroft has ever wanted to be anything other than a bureaucrat; suited and booted since toddlerhood. 

 As a kid John hadn't wanted to be a doctor or even a soldier, no, John had wanted to be a cowboy.  He’d wanted to wear the jeans, with the leather chaps, the boots and the spurs; the flannel shirts and, of course, the Stetson hat! He was only nine at the time and hadn't realised that cowboys worked with actual cows, spending many hours in the saddle and looking anything but heroic, instead being more often dirty, smelly and exhausted; but he had happy memories of watching John Wayne on the television on the rare occasions he visited his grandad.  Pleasant memories from his childhood are few and far between but his grandad usually features heavily in them, be they companionably watching films or working hard in the garden. His grandad had died when John was only twelve and the trouble at home had gone from bearable to intolerable in only a few short weeks and he'd left home at sixteen, moving in with his best friend’s family until he went to university at eighteen.

 “John? It’s five o’clock, Mrs Hudson says she's happy to have Rosie whenever you want to drop her off.”  Sherlock’s call pulls John out of his musings and back to the present day.  

 “We’ll be there in a sec.”  John calls back.  He straightens the little crown over Rosie’s blonde curls and leans in to kiss her on her cheek.  “There we go, sweetheart.  All ready for a night at Nanny’s?”  Mrs Hudson has been a god send, going above and beyond in helping John and Rosie settle in to life at Baker Street, she might not be family by blood but she's family in every way that matters.John picks Rosie up and automatically adjusts her to her usual position on his hip.  Rosie wriggles to escape, crushing her little gauze wings slightly, John doesn't notice their slightly imperfect shape as he carefully descends the stairs to the first floor, not wanting to slip and risk hurting his precious cargo.

 Sherlock awaits them just outside their living room, his face lit with a smile that is appearing more and more frequently.  With dexterous digits he straightens out Rosie’s wings and takes a step back to see her costume, fingers steepled in front of his lips as his gaze sweeps from her head to her toes; taking in the golden crown, the yellow and black striped long-sleeved top, the matching layered tutu, golden sparkly tights and shiny black shoes.  In her fist Rosie clutches a black and gold wand that she playfully waves at Sherlock, her wide smile showing off the six baby teeth that adorn her pink gums.John had decided to dress her up too, not wishing for her to feel left out, even if she can’t understand why she is dressed up.

 “What a beautiful…”  Sherlock flicks his eyes quickly towards John, taking heart from his encouraging nod and smile.  “Princess Fairy Bee!’

 Rosie’s excited babbling is enough to tell Sherlock he has guessed correctly.  Rosie’s communication is still mostly a collection of random sounds and emphatic pointing but small words like ‘dada’, ‘mine’, ‘more’ and ‘nana’ are sneaking in, along with various animal noises.  Sherlock often ponders what Rosie will call him, he knows his name is rather a mouthful but the idea of being called something like ‘Shirl” ever again actively makes his skin crawl.

 Sherlock picks up a small bag that contains a change of clothes, nightclothes and a few favoured books and toys for Rosie and follows John as he carries Rosie down to Mrs Hudson.  As usual, Rosie’s arrival is greeted with an excited hand clap and she is lifted from John’s arms and gathered in Mrs Hudson’s deceptively strong ones.  Within seconds Rosie is ‘answering’ Mrs Hudson’s questions and it is soon decided upon that she wants Shepherd’s Pie for her dinner and Banana and Custard for her afters.  

 “Are you sure you're still alright to have Rosie overnight?”  John queries, his hands shoved firmly in his pockets.  “I can leave the party early and take her, it’s not a problem. I don't have to spend the night at the hotel, it’s not far from here.”

 “Of course I am, John, we’ve been looking forward to it.  Rosie and I are going to have a lovely girls’ night in.  We are going to have a nice dinner, do some drawing, maybe watch some television and then I’ll give Rosie a relaxing bubble bath and afterwards we’ll read a bedtime story together.  She’ll be out like a light after all that, John, there’s no point in waking her up just to take her upstairs to put her back to bed.”  Mrs Hudson reassures him but Sherlock can see the way that John is chewing on his lip and knows that he is still troubled.

 “You’ve got our numbers if you need us?”  Sherlock prompts, knowing that she has.

 “Yes, dear.  And the number of the hotel, and Mycroft’s number, his assistant’s number, Detective Inspector Lestrade’s number and your parents’ number.”  She answers, indicating a pad where all the information is clearly displayed.  “It’s all in my phone too, as you very well know, Sherlock, you spent ten minutes this morning entering it all.”

 “If you're sure?”  John asks one last time before pressing a light kiss to Rosie’s curls, her crown having already found its way to the floor.

 “Of course I am, but I want one thing before you leave to get ready.”She deftly hands Rosie over to Sherlock before pulling her camera out of her apron pocket.“I want a photo of my boys and their little angel, can never have enough of those!”

 John stands rather awkwardly next to Sherlock as Mrs Hudson takes their photo and then frowns down at the screen.She gestures at them to move closer and takes another photograph, as she frowns at the screen once again John digs deep and finds the courage to place his hand, lightly, on the small of Sherlock’s back.Sherlock glances down at John, a shy, quizzical smile gracing his fine features,John allows himself to smile back and the moment seems to stretch before a flash alerts them once again to Mrs Hudson’s presence.

 “Oooh, this is a lovely one! I’ll grab another when you're all dressed up, my handsome boys.”She tucks the camera back in her apron pocket before anyone else can see it, taking a willing Rosie back from Sherlock.

 “Was that one of Mycroft’s men I saw earlier?” She queries, jiggling Rosie slightly and causing her to giggle; both men devoutly believe that particular noise to be amongst the best sounds in the world.

 “Yeah, he came by and picked up our bags, took them to the hotel.Sherlock thinks Mycroft believes we won’t turn up so he took our bags ‘hostage’.”John confirms.

 “So, there’s nothing left to sort out.Go on then, go and get ready.  Shoo.”  Mrs Hudson good-naturedly ushers them out of her flat, after another quick round of goodbye kisses, and on their way to their own.

 The walk back to their flat is oddly quiet as John is lost in his own thoughts whilst Sherlock calculates the best way to draw him out.  In the end, Sherlock decides not to go with the calculated approach, instead following his oft-ignored heart.A few steps more brings them into their kitchen and Sherlock begins to act.

 “Tea?”

 “Hmmm?”  John looks up, almost surprised to see himself standing in their kitchen whilst Sherlock holds up the kettle.  “Er, yeah.Thanks.”  He wanders over to the dining room table and sits down, his attention focused on his clasped hands.

 The comforting sounds of tea-making fill the room but John still remains fixated on his hands, his mind seemingly miles away.  The clunk of the mug being put on the table alerts him to the arrival of his drink, pulling him back to the here and now.

 “Ta.”  John sips his tea, looking off into the middle distance.

 “John?  She’ll be ok, Mrs Hudson will look after her.”Sherlock correctly perceives what is the cause of John’s distraction.

 “I know.  Logically, I know that.  It’s just…. “ He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before pinching the bridge of his nose.  “It’s just I was such a crap father after Mary died.  I left her with anyone who would take her, almost every night, and all I did was feel sorry for myself and blame the world for my problems, and I did all that from the bottom of a whiskey glass.”

 “You were in shock, John.  Mourning the sudden death of your wife, no-one thinks any less of you.”  Sherlock sips his tea, not looking directly at John in case he makes him feel even more uncomfortable.

 “Yeah, I know, but I wasn't great beforehand either.  Helping you put this place back together, making it my home again, was cathartic for me; it was like putting my life back together.  That was when I decided that Rosie comes first, no matter what.”

 “As it should be but Rosie won’t appreciate you locking her away, John, or locking yourself away for that matter.”

 “I know.”  John puts his mug down and looks towards Sherlock, finally making eye contact.  “I guess it’s just that this is the first time I’ve left her overnight since I started sorting myself out.  I know she’ll be fine but ….”  John leaves the rest of the sentence hanging.

 Sherlock stands from his seat and walks around to where John sits, after a moment of hesitation he lifts his hand and rests it on John’s shoulder, squeezing briefly.  “You’ll be fine too, I’ll be with you, you _can_ trust me.”

 “Yeah.”  John clears his throat, emotion sitting thick on his tongue.  “I know I can, that means a lot.”  He briefly rests his hand over Sherlock’s before standing and huffing slightly, a light blush staining his cheeks. “Well, I’d better go and …”  He gestures vaguely towards the stairs.

 “Yes, John.  Time to go and get ready for Mycroft’s party.  His driver will arrive to collect us in an hour.”  Sherlock reluctantly lets John go, before turning and walking to his own room, his mind still reeling from their conversation and his hand tingling from where John had touched him.

 John’s mood lifts a little when he sees his outfit all laid out and ready for the evening; he has been strangely looking forward to this party ever since the invitation got stabbed on to the mantlepiece.  It’s their first social event since he and Sherlock reconciled.The little impromptu get-together they’d had to celebrate Sherlock’s birthday, so many months before, doesn't really count as John had been furiously embarrassed about his break-down in front of Sherlock.  He was supposed to have been the strong one, the one with balanced emotions and yet he was the one that had been comforted by the so-called sociopath.  John shakes his head in an effort to clear it before grabbing a clean towel and his dressing gown and heading back down the stairs to their bathroom. 

 “Can I have the first shower, Sherlock?”  He calls out when he can’t locate Sherlock in any of their shared spaces. 

 “Of course.”  The slightly muffled reply comes from Sherlock’s bedroom and, now that John is listening more carefully, he can hear Sherlock moving around in his room; the gentle rattle of coat hangers and the sound of drawers being opened and closed indicating that Sherlock is organising his own costume.  A smile creeps on to John’s face at the sound of domesticity and the last of his bad mood fades.

 John is thorough in the shower, taking time to wash and rewash and spends more time than usual on his hair.He gives in to the temptation to hum along to the christmas carol that has been rattling around in his brain as he rinses and continues to do so as he prepares to shave, chuckling when he hears Sherlock start to hum along too, his rich baritone adding a pleasant edge.  John takes his time shaving, he had debated on growing some stubble for the party but didn't think he could cope with the itchy face.  When he has shaved thoroughly he reapplies his shaving soap and shaves again, he swipes a hand over his freshly shaven faced, appreciating the smoothness the extra effort has given him.  He takes a few moments to study himself critically in the mirror.  He’s never considered himself to be a handsome man but he has somehow grown in to his looks, his face and body are now slimmer and more defined than in his younger years, even taking in to account his time in the army.  His face, he admits, is prematurely lined and his hair is now a mix of honey-blonde and grey but he feels it adds a level of ruggedness to his appearance.A ruggedness that he feels will work well with the whole cowboy look he has planned for tonight.  With a final glance at his reflection he dries off thoroughly, leaving his hair sticking out in random directions, before pulling his dressing gown on, gathering up his dirty clothes, depositing them in the laundry basket with his wet towel and leaving the room.  He is barely out of the hallway before Sherlock nips in to the still warm bathroom, still humming away to himself, John grins widely in reaction and jogs up to his room.

 John is still smiling when he sees his costume; dark blue jeans, black leather chaps, deep red shirt, black leather bolo with silver filigree and a large dark tan overcoat all hang on the door of his wardrobe.The dark brown leather boots sit at the edge of his bed and the Stetson rests on his duvet.  He had debated on going with a morally ambiguous grey, not knowing if in his real life he was more of a ‘good’ guy or ‘bad’ guy but had eventually decided on white, the traditional colour of the hat belonging to the ‘hero’, not wanting to get in to any deep and meaningful conversations about his hat at the party.  John had forgone the whip, the spurs and the guns as it had been politely, but firmly, stated on the invitation that weapons, real or otherwise, would be confiscated at the door and returned, if appropriate, at the end of the party.

 John slips his dressing gown off his shoulders and hangs it on the back of his door, the indoctrinated neatness from his army days still guiding his actions. Luckily so, as now his small room also contains a neat cot for Rosie and his wardrobe and chest of drawers are equally filled with both his and Rosie’s clothes. It’s small and not at all like the house he shared with Mary, but it’s home and he loves it, although, he smiles wryly, a little more room to stretch out in wouldn't go amiss.He has no clue what he will do when Rosie is older, he has no intention of ever leaving Sherlock’s side again but, realistically, he may have to. Rosie can hardly be expected to share with her dear old dad until she leaves home.

 John actively decides not to worry about how things might change in a year or two and to concentrate on enjoying tonight.He pulls a pair of form-fitting black boxer shorts and a purple pair of socks from his drawer, he’d treated himself to new ones just fortonight. He slips them on, smiling to himself, he will be the only one who knows of this little indulgence but he enjoys the modest luxury anyway. Slowly, he pulls his jeans on, savouring the way they hug his thighs and backside and cup his genitals.They’re a button fly, the material a bit stiff under his fingertips but it feels somehow illicit as he pulls a thick belt through the loops and fastens it at the front, appreciating the way it makes the waist of the jeans sit flat against his tummy.It is only when he glances at himself in the mirror that he realises he'd been so absorbed in the sensation of the new clothes against his skin that he had neglected to put his shirt on. Laughing, he shakes his head at his forgetfulness andslides his shirt on, quickly undoing his belt and the fly buttons, of course, it is at that moment that someone decides to disturb his peace.

 “John, can I…”As usual Sherlock has barely left any time between his knock and opening the door. His words trail off at the sight of John standing with his bare chest framed by his open shirt and his trousers hanging open.Sherlock is suddenly aware of the seemingly paradoxical actions of his mouth going dry and the need to swallow against the sudden rush of saliva.He tries to speak but the words just come out in a jumbled mass and he curses the way his pale skin flushes.He tries to speak again but no words come out and all the while his eyes linger on John’s bare torso.When he finally looks up he catches the end of a strange expression on John’s face, one he can’t quite place but seems oddly familiar.

 “Hair.”Sherlock says, gesturing vaguely at his own hair, before swallowing again and makes a concerted effort at getting a full sentence, at normal human pace, out. “Can I use some of your hair product? I used all of mine on an experiment yesterday.”Sherlock steps cautiously further into the room, glancing around almost as if it’s his first time in the room.

 “Sure.”John walks over to his chest of drawers and sorts through the jars that sit on top, making no more of an effort to dress than to do up a button or two on his jeans to stop them falling lower on his hips.The movement of his hands draws Sherlock gaze and John slows the action, watching from the corner of his eye.He only turns his body when his prick starts to swell under Sherlock’s intent study.“Gel do you?”John has to clear his throat to get the words out clearly.

 “Gel?”Sherlock repeats, his gaze now focused on the various jars, his cheeks painted a deep pink.He blinks twice, before taking a deep breath. “Mousse, um, would be better if you have it, thanks.”

 John sorts through his small collection before settling on a bottle of mousse; he passes it over but allows his fingers to sweep slowly over Sherlock’s palm, his eyes lingering at the open V of Sherlock’s dressing gown and the hint of fine chest hair.His heart is pounding and his lips dry, for a while neither man moves but at the sound of John’s phone notifying an incoming text Sherlock pulls away.

 Sherlock is gone before John can even think of the right thing to say, or how to take the next step from longing looks and lingering touches; or even if he should.For weeks now John is certain he has been seeing signs of interest from Sherlock but he keeps convincing himself that he is seeing these signs because he wants to see them, not because they are actually there.Sherlock still appears to be getting texts from Irene, the obscene sound of the text alert shattering John’s peace of mind, Sherlock never seems to respond while John is in the room but the texts continue.Tonight though things seem to have changed; the way Sherlock had been unable to look away from John’s semi undressed form, the way he had flushed and the way he had allowed John’s touch to linger are all too much for John to just dismiss as coincidence.

 He slowly buttons his shirt, his mind going over their recent interaction, he barely notices the softness of the cotton against his bare chest, or the way the chaps sit snug and heavy on his hips.By the time he has fastened his bolo and pulled on his boots John is still no closer to a working idea about how to address the situation between himself and Sherlock.He swings the coat on with a flourish and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, very happy with the overall look.John runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it again with the flat of his palm before donning his hat, adjusting the angle to look more rakish.

 

Festive violin music can be heard as John walks down the stairs, the sounds warming John’s heart even as they soothe the last of his concerns about leaving Rosie overnight.Sherlock is looking out of the window, his body slightly turned as he plays; John just has time to register a deep purple frock coat, beige, well fitting trousers and black knee-high boots before Sherlock turns around to face him, the perfection of his playing falters as he plays a series of wrong notes before stopping completely.Sherlock seems stunned at John’s appearance and John has to admit to feeling fairly stunned himself; Sherlock looks positively mouth-watering.He appears to have used John’s hair mousse to define and separate his curls, making his hair appear longer, thicker and adding an air of innocence to his otherwise sinful outfit.The purple frock coat is open and frames Sherlock’s lean torso perfectly, drawing John’s attention to the loose white shirt that is open to halfway down his chest, displaying the fine chest hairs that John had admired earlier.John’s attention drifts lower and his breath catches in his throat; the beige trousers that had only hinted at their close fit from behind and below the edge of the frock coat, leave nothing to the imagination when seen from the front.The smooth material moulds gently over Sherlock’s thighs, defining the strength of them but John’s focus is firmly captured by the way the material defines Sherlock’s groin.John only just chokes back ‘are you wearing any pants’, as it’s blatantly obvious that Sherlock isn’t.Sherlock moves to put his violin away, ever graceful, before doing up his coat, hiding the slim cut of his trousers but further defining his lithe, fit build.

 “Ready, John?” Sherlock queries, his voice unsteady. With a shaky hand Sherlock puts on a large tricorn hat, the long ostrich feather sweeping downwards to brush the collar of his frock coat.

 “Are we grabbing a taxi or is Mycroft sending a car?” John manages, proud of how normal he sounds.

 “He’s sending a car, so let’s grab a taxi.”

 Their laughter carries them downstairs and to Mrs Hudson’s door.What was originally going to be a brief goodbye ends up being rather more drawn out.Sherlock and John are greeted with twin shrieks of delight from Rosie and Mrs Hudson.Rosie reaches out to get a cuddle from her dad, and after a quick wash to remove the gravy from around her face, she is settled happily in his arms whilst reaching out to play with the feather in Sherlock’s hat. The chuckling and giggling good nature of the scene has Mrs Hudson reaching for her camera again.She snaps what she believes to be the perfect picture; Sherlock tickling Rosie’s face with his hat’s feather as they both smile broadly and John looks on, love showing very clearly on his features.Mrs Hudson wonders if tonight is the night that John finally admits to how he feels, both to Sherlock and fully to himself. They say a final goodbye to Mrs Hudson and Rosie, chuckling like school-boys as they dodge around the car Mycroft has sent and slip in to the nearest cab.

 

Their good mood lasts for the whole of the cab drive and through the hotel’s atrium. The atrium looks almost magical, warm white lights are wrapped around the wrought iron balustrades and fresh holly wreaths and swags decorate the wooden panelling.A magnificent Norse Pine stands in the centre, glittering with golden lights and sparkling red decorations; John makes a mental note to bring Rosie here to see it.He glances over to speak to Sherlock and sees the same look of wonder on his face that he would expect to see on Rosie’s.As he watches the look of wonder is suddenly shuttered and a look of indifference replaces it, John turns to face where Sherlock’s focus has come to rest and sees Mycroft walking to greet them.

 “A pirate, how very predictable, Sherlock.”Mycroft drawls, his gaze barely flicking over their costumes as he joins them.

 “A jumped-up, overweight waste of oxygen, how predictable, Mycroft.”Sherlock replies blandly, a raised eyebrow is the only response that Sherlock receives.

 John doesn't risk saying anything, he thinks that Mycroft looks rather impressive in his Knights Templar outfit but knows that this is part of how the Holmes’ brothers communicate; with barbed comments and sneering disdain, all of which hides a deep and abiding familial love.

 John and Sherlock spend the next couple of hours chatting to various diplomats and dignitaries, it’s dull and tedious to the extreme, nothing unexpected happens to break the monotony except for the appearance of Gregory Lestrade.As usual, conversation with him is jovial and light-hearted, if slightly predictable; the surprise comes from Lestrade’s choice of costume and the gleam that it puts in Mycroft’s eye.He is dressed as a flamenco dancer, all skin-tight clothing and heeled shoes; it’s an unexpected choice for the usually conservative, slightly scruffy, police officer. 

 “I never would have pegged you as a dancer, Greg.”John can’t help running an appreciative eye over the outfit, Lestrade looks handsome enough but he doesn't hold a candle to the raw sensuality that Sherlock exudes.

 “Not really something that comes up in every-day police work.”Greg says, eyes widening in surprise when Sherlock wholeheartedly agrees.“I went on a trip to Spain when I was in secondary school, got to see some traditional dance one night, completely blew me away.Most of the other boys hated it, kept going on about how ‘gay’ it was.I couldn't see it for myself, all I could see was the raw strength and masculinity of it.The lead dancer, in particular, had such control, such presence.”Greg’s voice grows wistful.

 “And you never thought to give it a go?” John queries.

 “What?With him or with the dancing?” Greg quips.“I was fourteen, too old to develop that sort of skill, plus my dad would probably have beaten seven shades of snot out of me.”Greg answers, only half joking.

 

The music slows as the evening progresses, the dance floor is now full of couples, most are people using it as a chance to talk and further professional connections but a few are couples using it simply to be close, more intimate and, to John’s surprise, there are few single sex couples slowly moving around the dance floor.Sherlock watches them almost wistfully before someone catches his eye on the other side of the dance floor and he goes to join them, John watches as he walks away, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the way it tapers in to a slim waist, lamenting the way the coat hides Sherlock backside from him but allows his eyes to travel down the length of Sherlock’s long legs.

 “See something you like, mate?”Greg teases, a large grin on his tanned face.

 John can feel the heat on his face as he flushes at being caught in his blatant perusal of Sherlock’s body.

 “I.. I..”John stutters, seeking an answer. “Shut up.”He attempts to hide his mortification by sipping at his drink.It’s water, as it has been all night, he has avoided alcohol since moving back in with Sherlock.It hasn't been easy but it’s a journey he has been happy to undertake, he feels better both mentally and physically.

 Greg just chuckles good-naturedly at John’s discomfort; despite what Sherlock often says of him, he knows he is a good police officer but he's certain even bloody Anderson knows how much Sherlock and John watch each other and how broken they had each been when they thought they had lost the other; one to supposed death, one to marriage.

 “Sherlock looks like he's enjoying himself.”Greg indicates where Sherlock is chatting with a dark haired woman in Georgian costume, their faces relaxed, body language open; both things very unusual for Sherlock.

 “Damn.”John mutters as he recognises the woman happily talking, and openly flirting, with Sherlock. “I’d better get over there, she’s no Irene Adler but I’m not sure her interest in Sherlock is all innocent.”

 Lestrade studies the woman more closely, trying to imagine her in modern clothes and with her ornately styled dark hair worn differently.“Wasn’t she a bridesmaid at your wedding?Dated Sherlock for a while?”

 “Something like that.”John puts his glass down on a nearby table and shrugs out of his long leather coat, his blood now burning hot.“Look after this for me?”He shoves his coat in Lestrade’s direction before stalking towards Sherlock.

 Lestrade chuckles in to his drink and settles John’s coat more comfortably over his arm before wandering off to find Mycroft, a man who can always be relied upon for good conversation and company.

 John slows his walk when he is within a few meters of Sherlock and Janine, taking a few seconds to calm his breathing, not wanting to appear like he had rushed to Sherlock’s side.

 “Fancy seeing you here, Janine.”John says, by way of introduction, his intonation flat.

 She smiles at John, watching the way he places himself close to Sherlock, his palm flat on the small of Sherlock’s back, unconsciously possessive.

 “Careful John, last time Sherlock and I saw a pair of Cowboy boots he deduced that the wearer was a sufferer of erectile dysfunction.”Janine laughs, her eyes straying over to where Sherlock has instinctively moved closer to John’s side.

 “Did he?” John laughs, his head tilted, his smile not reaching his eyes.

 “I did.”Sherlock confirms cautiously.“Although I deduce that won’t be an issue for John.” He closes his mouth quickly, obviously surprised at that final sentence slipping out.

 “Damn right.”John concurs, curious about the light blush on Sherlock’s cheeks.

 An awkward silence follows and is only broken when Lady Smallwood approaches their group.

 “Doctor Watson, Mr Holmes.”She pauses briefly.“Janine, how nice to see you outside of the office.”

 “And you, Lady Smallwood.Thank you for the invitation.”Lady Smallwood nods and then turns her attention to Sherlock, effectively blocking both John and Janine from the conversation.

 “I have a possible assignment for you, Mr Holmes.Dance with me whilst we discuss it?”It’s posed as a question but it is clear that Sherlock has no choice in the matter.

 He nods his farewell to Janine and John and offers his arm to Lady Smallwood, who accepts it with distracted grace before being lead on to the dance floor.

 John watches from the edge of the dance floor as Sherlock dances with Lady Smallwood, his posture and poise are impeccable and he looks like he was born to it.John can see from the expressions that cross Sherlock’s face that he is uninterested in whatever Lady Smallwood has to say.The original song blends seamlessly into the next and John suddenly has the urge to do something incredibly brave or, according to Mycroft, incredibly stupid.

 “Man up, Watson.”He mutters to himself, squaring his shoulders and tensing his jaw.This is one ‘battle’ he can’t back down from.

 With a deep breath he walks on to the dance floor, weaving in and out of the dancers. He stops by Sherlock and Lady Smallwood, placing his hand briefly on Sherlock’s shoulder.The action is enough to halt their dance and Sherlock looks between Lady Smallwood and John, bewilderment showing clear on his face.

 “May I?”John questions.It takes Sherlock a long moment to realise that the question is directed at him and not Lady Smallwood, he accepts John’s proffered hand wordlessly, confused as to what is happening.

 He adopts the natural dance position for the slow paced song that is now playing, his hand resting gently on John’s waist whilst John’s hand is on his shoulder, their other hands are joined and held slightly up and away from them.Sherlock’s posture is stiff and wary but he gradually relaxes into John’s hold.They move together through the first few bars of the song, neither man says anything but neither do they look away from each other.Slowly, John moves his hand from Sherlock’s shoulder until it is resting on Sherlock’s waist, turning the formal dance into something more intimate. When Sherlock doesn't protest, John brings their joined hands slightly closer to their bodies.

 Sherlock looks briefly away, chewing on his lip before returning his full attention back to John, his face open and vulnerable.

 “What are you thinking?” John queries, his voice soft.

 “I am thinking about how many times I have refrained from doing something that I really wanted to.”Sherlock answers, still clearly confused with the current situation.

 “When have you ever held back from doing something you've wanted to do?”John teases softly.

 “Quite often, actually, and with surprising frequency, especially of late.”Sherlock admits.

 “And what is it that you wanted to be doing?”John is beginning to feel quite breathless, their physical closeness very affecting.

 “I wanted to kiss someone.”Sherlock’s answer is barely more than a whisper, his eyes fixed on John’s face, his colour high.

 John swallows and fervently prays that this conversation is going in the direction that it seems to be. He bites back the obvious question, choosing instead to extend this moment between them.“And why didn't you?”

 “Because he has been through a lot, all of my causing, and even _I_ can tell that my timing would have beeninappropriate.”

 “He?”John questions, his heart pounding in his chest.

 “Does that surprise you, John?”

 “A year or so ago I would have said no, not particularly, but more recently.”John pauses.“More recently I thought you and Irene had a thing going, at least until these last few weeks.”

 “Text, idle texts.”Sherlock grips John’s hand more tightly. “She can sometimes engage my mind but she has never managed to engage my mind _and_ my body.”

 “And he does? Did?”

 “Does.Yes.With startling regularity.”Sherlock is gradually gaining confidence in the situation, finally realising where John is going with his questioning.

 “Why haven't you tried to kiss him yet?Is he recovering well?”John urges, needing Sherlock to be the one who takes the lead now.

 "I believe so. But I have been unsure that he feels that way about me, that he would welcome my advances.” He steps closer to John and John lets his arm slide further around Sherlock’s waist, holding him securely.

 “What if you created a situation where you were in close proximity with him?”John studies Sherlock’s face, noticing the way that Sherlock’s flush deepens on his high cheekbones.“Oh, you've been in close proximity with him, but the timing was wrong.”John surmises, more convinced than ever that he is the man that Sherlock wants to kiss.He draws their joined hands between them, resting them over his pounding heart, hoping Sherlock can feel it too.Sherlock nods, his eyes flicking down to John’s lips briefly.

 “I was holding him in my arms to comfort him.I haven't held him since, except …”Sherlock lets the statement hang.

 “Except?”John prompts, needing to hear the rest of the sentence.

 “Except for now.”Sherlock admits, his eyes downcast.

 “Sherlock?Look at me?”John whispers, he waits until Sherlock looks up before slowly bringing their joined hands to his lips.He kisses Sherlock’s fingers lightly, maintaining eye contact all the while.

 Sherlock stares at John, wide eyed and lips parted, before taking a sudden step back.John barely has time to acknowledge he has probably just royally fucked up, before he is pulled forcibly from the dance floor, dragged from the main hall and in to a shadowed alcove.John is pushed, almost roughly, against the wall before Sherlock backs away, pacing for what seems like an eternity to an anxious John. 

 Finally, he comes to a stop in front of John and studies him intently, brows furrowed, silver-blue focus flicking all over John’s features.John works hard to meet Sherlock’s gaze, to keep his expression and stance open and welcoming. Slowly, as if any sudden movement would shatter the moment, Sherlock raises his right hand and carefully cups John’s face.The tenderness of the gesture bringing a lump to John’s throat.With the same care, Sherlock slides his thumb over John’s lower lip, his breath catching when John allows his lips to part slightly.With painstaking slowness Sherlock leans in towards John, his eyelids fluttering shut at the first light touch of their lips.Sherlock’s hand spasms against John’s cheek and the kiss pauses as Sherlock slides his other hand around to the nape of John’s neck, long fingers sliding up in to John’s hair.John’s fists are clenched at his side as he fights against his need to reach out and hold Sherlock or to deepen the kiss but he doesn't want to risk spooking him, he understands Sherlock’s need to be in control of this, their first kiss.Sherlock parts his lips, encouraging John to do the same and the kiss deepens, John now risks bringing his hands up to rest on Sherlock’s waist, his fingers pressing in.He feels light-headed from the intensity of the moment and is rapidly becoming breathless.In any other circumstances he’d be embarrassed by the needy noise he makes when his tongue finally comes into contact with Sherlock’s, instead he savours the unique taste and sensation, hardly daring to believe what is happening. The kiss slows, gradually stopping with a series of gentle kisses that make John’s heart ache with their sweetness.Sherlock’s hands return to cradle John’s face once again and he rests his head against John’s so that they are forehead to forehead, their breathing uneven, the sound louder than the music coming from the nearby party.

 “Wow.”John breathes, chuckling lightly.

 Sherlock’s light laughter joins his.“I concur.”He opens his eyes, focusing intently on John.

 “At the risk of destroying the mood,”John begins and then falters, continuing when Sherlock presses a light kiss to his temple. “What is this, Sherlock? If it’s just a one off to get me out of your system, I’d be ok with that.”John searches Sherlock face.“But I want more than that, I want this, you, us….”John takes a deep breath. “For tonight, tomorrow and every day after that.”

 “You really are an idiot, John.”Sherlock answers, dipping his head to place another light, but lingering, kiss on John’s lips.

 “I’m not going to argue that fact with you.”John laughs. “Is.. Is that a yes, then?That you want more too?”

 “Yes.”Sherlock kisses John’s left eyebrow.“Yes.” Kisses the right eyebrow. “Yes.”Lastly kissing John’s lips, John groans in to the kiss, finally giving in to temptation and wrapping his arms tightly around Sherlock, pulling him flush against him. One of John’s hands remains firmly at the small of Sherlock’s back, the other glides down to massage at the globe of Sherlock’s backside.Sherlock moans and rocks against John, his hand returning to John’s hair, pulling lightly as his other hand slides down John’s side, pausing at the edge of John’s jeans.

 “Christ.”John gasps. “I really think we should take this somewhere less public.”

 “Don’t want to be caught snogging in the corridor by my big brother?”Sherlock smirks, nuzzling in to the soft skin under John’s ear.

 “Honestly, I don't give a damn who catches us snogging but I’d like to take this further than kissing.”John pauses, leaning back so he can look at Sherlock. “If that’s what you want too, if not I’ll happily snog you here, or anywhere.”

 “You really are an idiot, John.I’ve been in love with you for years, lusting after you for much longer.”Sherlock pushes John back against the wall and steals his words directly from his lips.The kiss that follows leaves little doubt in John’s mind that Sherlock would also like to take this much further.

 “Love?”John manages to utter against Sherlock’s lips.

 “It’s always been you, John Watson.Now please _do_ shut up and take me to our room.”

 “Key, we need a key.”John breathes into the curve of Sherlock’s neck, the loose cut of the pirate shirt and the open coat allowing John access to Sherlock’s collar bone.Sherlock’s hands leave John’s body only for a moment before he produces a keycard from the inside pocket of his frock coat. “Bloody genius!”

 “Yep.” 

 Once again he manhandles John; this time dragging him along the corridor by their joined hands, leaving their hats abandoned.Their laughter fills the festively decorated hallway and follows them in to the lift.They share the compartment with only two other people; an elderly couple in simple evening wear, obviously returning from a night out at the opera.John slaps laughingly at Sherlock’s hand every time Sherlock makes to pull John in to kiss.

 “Oh, give him a kiss, sweetheart.It’s Christmas.”The woman says, squeezing her husband’s arm and looking lovingly up into his eyes.“Love should never be hidden away.”Her husband smiles and places a tender kiss on her forehead just as the lift opens on the first floor.“Ooh, this is us.Have a lovely night, boys.” 

 The two men watch as the couple walk away, hand in hand, before they collapse in giggles against the lift wall.

 “What is it with little old women and our love-life, or lack of it?”John questions, still smiling.

 “They are breed unto themselves, never doubt how perceptive they are.”Sherlock answers, only partly joking, before backing John into the corner. 

 Sherlock places his hands on either side of John’s head, effectively trapping him,John does not object, merely licks his lips and tilts his head; all anticipation.Sherlock dips his head and allows his lips to lightly brush against John’s, breathing against him for what feels like an age.Finally, John grows impatient and raises up on his toes, pushing his lips firmly on Sherlock’s.They melt into the kiss, Sherlock’s long fingers threading through John’s hair as John’s hands wander down to Sherlock’s backside, cupping and squeezing, seemingly unable to move his hands away for long.

 The kiss continues until the ping of the lift announces their arrival at another floor, Sherlock glances over his shoulder and upon registering the floor number he once again tugs John along by his wrist.Muttering the numbers on the doors as he passes them before finally locating their room.Subconsciously John registers that instead of the two single beds he had been expecting there is only one large kingsize bed, hazily he thinks how grateful he is for that matter before he is once again swept into a searing kiss.

 All thoughts that John had maybe needing to guide a timid or shy Sherlock through this encounter have been obliterated.Sherlock seems very sure of what he wants and, quite rightly, that John will be more than willing to give it.

 “God, John.I’ve kept my distance for so long, I never thought you'd want me too.”Sherlock almost growls as he removes John’s bolo tie, before sliding his hands down and back, grasping at John’s arse.

“I do, christ, yes.”John answers inanely as he reaches between them to push Sherlock’s coat from his shoulders.The action drags at Sherlock’s loose shirt, showing a large expanse of creamy white skin speckled with a constellation of freckles and moles.Leaning in, John kisses the perfection in front of him, nipping at it occasionally, gaining ecstatic gasps and stronger clenches of his backside.

 “I probably should remind you that I have a very addictive personality.” Sherlock tugs John’s shirt loose from his trousers and begins to flick each button free of its hole. “It’s been years, decades, since I did this last and it took all my willpower to stop.I gave weeks of my life to the discovery of giving and receiving sexual pleasure.”With what seems like almost superhuman effort Sherlock halts the exploratory march of his fingers. “I had a wild youth and have been celibate since I turned twenty.My choice.I have never been able to get enough of you and adding sex to the equation will make it harder for me to step back.But I will,I know to give you your space and quiet time; that Rosie does and should always come first, but I’m also very sure of the fact that I can not share you with another romantic or sexual partner.”Sherlock takes a deep breath, his focus on where his fingers gently dance over the exposed skin of John’s chest. “You said you want us for ‘for tonight, tomorrow and every day after that,’; So, as much as I want to take it as said, John, I need to confirm what I think you have implied.I make too many mistakes when it comes to you and I won’t mess this up.Will it just be you and I?No other partners?”

 “Oh, Sherlock, love.”John tilts Sherlock’s face so that he is looking directly at John. “It’s only you for me, as it always _should_ have been. If the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that I should grab what I want with both hands.”John cups Sherlock’s face with both hands, eyes intent. “So that’s what I’m doing.I’m grabbing you with both hands and I’m never letting go.Do you understand, Sherlock?I love you, I want you more than I can say.This is it for me.You're the one.Just you.”He leans in for a kiss.“Is that clear enough for you?”

 Sherlock remains staring into John’s eyes before nodding.John just has time to acknowledge this before he is once again being manhandled in the most delightful way.His shirt his pushed from his shoulders, the cuffs catching briefly on his wrists before Sherlock tugs them free.He is walked backwards until the bed halts his progress, he half expects to be pushed back on to it but once again he is surprised.

 “I have long admired your backside, John but it is devastating in this outfit.The chaps over those close-fitting jeans are inspired, they frame your arse so perfectly.It’s been drawing my eyes all night, quite literally making me salivate.”Sherlock’s eyes are gleaming in the low light of the room and John shivers at the mere thought of what Sherlock is implying. 

 John can find no words to express the euphoria he is currently swimming in but he'd happily let himself drown if only Sherlock would carry on performing whatever magic he is obviously doing. He nods and moves to untuck Sherlock’s shirt from his, quite frankly, sinful breeches.His hands are knocked gently away and he takes the subtle hint, resting his hands on Sherlock’s hips and letting himself flow with the moment.Sherlock makes short work of John’s belt, the clink and swish of its release and tug through the belt loops serving to heighten John’s excitement.Sherlock’s hands drift to the buttons on John’s jeans and with agonising slowness he slips each one undone.John groans as Sherlock’s fingers teasingly drift over his growing erection as it pushes against the black boxers. 

 Sherlock sinks slowly to his knees, the smooth fluidity of his movements making John bite his lip, anticipation pooling in him as never before. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of John’s chaps, jeans and underwear Sherlock eases them down, his eyes fixed on the skin that gradually comes in to view.The boxers catch slightly on John’s erection before being pulled slightly out to allow John’s penis to be released from the constraints of the material.Sherlock pauses in his movements, apparently enthralled by the appearance of this most intimate part of John. 

 Giving in to temptation John trails his left hand along the curve of Sherlock’s cheekbone and back into his hair, wanting nothing more than to enjoy the sensation of the curls as they twist and twine around his fingers.Sherlock sighs and his warm breath caresses John’s overheated skin causing John to tug lightly on Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock shifts slightly forward until his lips are mere millimetres away from John’s cock;John closes his eyes against the sight of Sherlock on his knees, that perfect cupid bow poised and ready,jolting when he feels the hesitant first touch of Sherlock’s tongue against him.Growing more confident in his actions Sherlock runs the flat of his tongue along John’s length, from root to tip, flicking over the sensitive head. This is far from John’s first encounter with oral sex but he feels like he is experiencing it for the first time.Each lick, flick and suck threaten to drive him to his knees, he braces himself with a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and a hand on the mattress behind him.

 He loses track of time, unsure if mere seconds or many minutes have passed, he is still drifting in his little bubble of pleasure when he becomes aware that Sherlock has stopped his apparent worship of his cock.Strong, sure hands encourage him to lift his left leg and he feels his boot being slid off, hears the clunk of his boot as it thrown to the side before the hands return to his foot, peeling off his sock.Cool air caresses his hot skin as his crumpled clothes are pushed down his calf and over his foot.The actions are repeated on his right leg, then strong, agile hands run along his legs, brushing the fine hair in the wrong direction.Oddly, instead of feeling unpleasant it sends shivers of intense pleasure through John’s body and he moans in response, his head tipped back.

 As Sherlock smoothes his hands over John’s naked body he slowly moves to standing. He ensures that his clothed body rubs lightly over John’s as he raises to his feet.John’s reaction leaves no doubt in Sherlock’s mind that John is enjoying this,Sherlock’s own body is responding eagerly.The delicate hairs on his arms are raised, his heart pounding and his breathingquick and erratic but most telling is how erect his penis is and has been ever since John first grabbed his backside in the corridor.He presses his body against John’s, rolling his hips slightly to leave John in no doubt about how _exactly_ Sherlock is feeling about this whole encounter.He leans down slightly and captures John’s mouth in another all encompassing kiss, having to consciously pull himself away, not wanting to bring their first time together to a sudden halt with him ejaculating into his trousers.

 “Sit on the bed, John, watch me.This is all for you.”Sherlock smiles, slow and seductive.“A christmas treat.”A light flush graces his cheeks.

 Sherlock backs a few steps away, just far enough to give John full view of his body but not so far that he breaks the little bubble of intimacy they seem to be existing in.With inherent grace Sherlock slips his boots off, his socks following shortly after.Standing straight once again Sherlock faces the bed where John is watching intently, his lips parted. With a light touch Sherlock drifts his hands over his chest, gliding them up his chest, neck and finally to caress his hair.With skilful fingers he separates the curls, making his hair appear soft and inviting.John’s fingers twitch with the temptation to touch but he does what Sherlock has requested and remains where he is, just watching.Sherlock gives his hair a light tug, eyes fluttering momentarily shut out of the sheer pleasure it gives him.It’s been an age since he has allowed himself to experience such drawn-out pleasure; knowing John is witnessing his actions pushes aside the small amount of self-consciousness Sherlock was feeling. He slides his hands back down, tracing over the muscles in his neck as he tips his head back, before trailing over his chest, playing with his nipples, making them peak and push against the thin material of his shirt.

 A murmured ‘Oh God.’ comes from the direction of the bed, encouraging Sherlock to tease himself more.He smooths his hands down his torso, sliding them over his breeches until one hand is cupping his testicles, the other drifting over the firm line of his penis.The rustle of movement draws Sherlock’s gaze back to the bed, John has given into temptation of his own.One firm hand is wrapped around his cock, unmoving but the muscles in John’s arm are tensed, giving evidence to how hard he is resisting stroking himself as Sherlock watches.

 “Do it, John.Let me see you.”Sherlock’s voice is deep and husky; the sound of which does more for John than the instruction. John’s hand moves on his cock, hesitantly at first but then with more surety. 

 John times his own hand to match Sherlock’s movement, who is gratified when John moves to mirror Sherlock’s hand positions too. One on his cock, one on his balls.The room is quiet except for the heavy breathing of the men, both absorbed in their own, and the other man’s, actions.Finally Sherlock halts in his actions to release the fastening on his trousers, a simple button fastening on a folding flap.John’s hand pauses in its motion as he eagerly watches Sherlock let the opening of his trousers fall free, confirming John’s suspicion that Sherlock, is indeed, not wearing any pants underneath his trousers.Sherlock leaves his trousers almost gaping open and in one swift movement Sherlock strips his shirt off over his head, revealing a lithely muscled chest dusted with fine, dark hair.Various small scars litter his torso, evidence of his many escapades and adventures.One scar, in particular, draws John’s eye: it’s barely more than a slightly raised, shiny, pink ovoid, the legacy of Mary’s bizarre relationship with Sherlock.It’s history now, the same as his own gunshot scar and John makes a conscious effort to move his focus away.Nothing he can do or say now will alter the actions of their past and he wants, _needs_ , to concentrate on their future now.

 Sherlock stands before him, naked except for his open trousers that hang loosely on hips.His penis is still partially hidden but with slow, steady movements Sherlock slides his trousers off. John watches with baited breath as the material slides over firmly muscled thighs, over strong knees before finally sliding over tightly defined calf muscles, puddling into a heap of fabric on the floor. A small step brings Sherlock closer to John and out of his clothes, he pauses, giving John plenty of time to look his fill. 

 John stands slowly, almost afraid that any sudden movements will startle Sherlock and send him running, his common sense returned.Instead Sherlock awaits John, calm and confident in his decisions, his body stance and expression open and welcoming, a small smile playing about his lips. John reaches him and slides his hands reverently over Sherlock’s hips, his waist and up and over his chest, finally settling at Sherlock’s shoulders.He gazes up at Sherlock, his expression soft, their bodies not touching anywhere else, the heat coming from one, warming the other.

 “God, you're so bloody beautiful.”John murmurs earnestly.Sliding his left hand to the back of Sherlock’s neck, John gently guides Sherlock down to him as he raises slightly on his toes.The kiss that follows holds all of their earlier passion but lacks the desperate edge, it’s a kiss that promises forever.A kiss of two men finally admitting to their feelings and looking forward to their future, together.As one they move towards the bed, their kiss merely migrating from lips, to cheeks, to neck and back to lips.Laughter escapes them when John once again bumps into the bed, his giggles being hushed by yet another kiss as large, strong hands help to move him onto the bed.

 He lays back on to the soft duvet and pulls Sherlock with him, moaning as Sherlock settles on top of him.With easy movements John draws Sherlock into another kiss, spreading his legs and encouraging Sherlock to slip in between.Their lips rarely leave the other’s as the heat builds up between their bodies, a fine layer of sweat easing the friction of their rhythmic undulations; both men happy to go wherever the mood takes them. 

 Sherlock moves his kisses to trace along John’s jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath his ear before drifting down to caress John’s neck with open lips and tentative tongue.The taste of John blooms on Sherlock’s tongue, a heady mix of clean sweat, John’s natural musk and an undertone of his aftershave.Sherlock sighs in to his neck, causing goosebumps to cascade over John’s skin.His kisses trail down onto John’s chest, paying brief attention to the scar on his shoulder, before dipping down to suck a nipple into his mouth.He doesn't go easy, instinctively knowing that John will appreciate a firm touch here.As his lips caress and tease one nipple, his fingers do the same to the other.John reacts immediately; his undulations becoming more forceful, rubbing his leaking cock onto the skin of Sherlock’s overheated chest; his breath coming out in loud gasps, intermingled with barely vocalised ‘Oh Christ,’ and ‘Sherlock’.His hands move to Sherlock’s head, fingers tangling in the soft curls as he rides the waves of pleasure he is currently engulfed in. 

 Sherlock moves lower, marking his way with open mouthed kisses and light strokes of his tongue, eliciting more gasps and garbled words from John.It takes all of Sherlock’s self-control not to rut down on to the bed beneath him and bring himself to completion.Hearing and seeing John’s response to his touch is even more arousing than he had imagined it could be, making his nerve receptors sing.Finally,Sherlock reaches John’s cock, once again he teases with tongue flicks and light sucks.It is only when John begs with a hoarsely muttered, ‘please, Sherlock.’that Sherlock takes John more fully in to his mouth.Still he teases, only paying attention to the head of John’s cock, his hand wrapped around John’s shaft, effectively stopping John from thrusting into his mouth.Sherlock spends long minutes lavishing attention on John, gradually working his way further down his length until he has his nose pressed against crisp, honey-blonde hair.A sharp tug on his own hair has him slowly withdrawing, following the unspoken directive to move so that his body is once more over John’s, their cocks aligned.

 “I was too close, Sherlock. Together, yeah?”John states, his lips brushing lightly against Sherlock’s.

 Strong, forceful hands guide Sherlock’s hips into a rocking rhythm before drifting on to the globes of his arse, squeezing and releasing in harmony to their movements.The pace picks up and Sherlock is no longer able to kiss John’s lips, their height difference finally coming in to play.Sherlock can feel where John is breathing hot and heavy against his neck and shoulders, random kisses being pressed to his skin.All he can do in response is breathe in the scent of John’s hair, occasionally pressing a sloppy kiss to his forehead.

 John’s hips suddenly still and his grip tightens on Sherlock’s arse as he finally reaches his climax.Warm ejaculate spreads between them, coating Sherlock’s penis and their stomachs; Sherlock groans at the sensation and presses his lips firmly against John’s hair.He can no longer hold off his own completion and ruts almost frantically against John, his cock sliding with ease.John’s previously lax hands suddenly tighten and it is that which drives Sherlock into oblivion with a shout.He barely manages to move slightly to the side before collapsing against John.

 Long minutes pass before either man is able to speak, they simply lay together, enjoying the proximity of the other as their sweat slowly cools.

 “We probably should shower, but I say bugger that.”John says, the smile apparent in his voice.“Shift off, you lanky git, and I’ll grab us a flannel.”

 Sherlock rolls off with a huff, long limbs limp, his arm raised above his head, curls damp and dishevelled. John leans over him to steal a kiss before sliding off the bed and going to get the flannel.Sherlock tilts his head up so he can watch John as he walks away, finally able to be blatant in his appreciation.

 John comes back with the flannel, a broad smile on his face.He looks gloriously ruffled, his fringe falling over his forehead.

 “Mmm.I never said but I do love this longer hair of yours.Very sexy.”Sherlock grins, his eyes dancing over John’s body.

 “Yeah? Well, I couldn't let you be the only sexy one.”John jokes as he wipes Sherlock clean, throwing the flannel in the general direction of the bathroom. “Get under the covers, I think we’ve both earned a good night’s sleep.”

 Together they climb under the duvet, moving so that Sherlock rests his head on John’s good shoulder, their legs entwined.John pulls him close and rests his chin lightly on the top of Sherlock’s head, he’s almost asleep when Sherlock speaks.

 “Move in to my room when we get home.We’ll decorate your old room up for Rosie, give her some space to grow.”The words seem oddly tentative after everything they have shared tonight.

 “Yeah, course. _Our_ girl deserves only the best.” John answers.

 Sherlock’s only answer is a slightly damp kiss to John’s chest and to snuggle in closer.John drifts off to thoughts of how he finally has the family, and love, he has always dreamed of.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
